


There's Nothing Abnormal About You

by Crosswired Processor (KageDanza)



Series: Detroit: Become A Little Better Every Day [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Call This Fic For A Good Chill Time, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Is A Plant Nerd, Connor Is Uncomfortable With Emotions, Connor is a Mess (Detroit: Become Human), Depression, Except When Things Go Wrong, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hank is a mess, Hurt/Comfort, It's Kind Of A Main Protagonist, Markus Kind Of Hates His Job, Overuse of flower symbolism, Plants, Poor Connor, Sumo is a good boy, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24194392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageDanza/pseuds/Crosswired%20Processor
Summary: Androids still aren't allowed to have jobs, but volunteering is technically legal, right?Post-Revolution life is abundant with existential dread, emotional instabilities and bureaucratic nonsense for our favorite deviants. Connor's been forced to stay in Hank's house for the past few months while he waits for the DPD to allow him a position, but there are only so many things he can paint before his emotions finally catch up to him (the nasty things). Markus gives him the perfect solution: he should just volunteer at an android-run soup kitchen and aid center.The only problem? There are people there.In which Connor feels bad for things that aren't really his fault, Hank is trying to get his not-son to make friends and be healthy, and Markus just wants things to go smoothly for once in his life. Featuring Nigel the Gardening WR600, Various Plants, Rough Sleepers, and Altruistic Android OCs!(You'll be able to get by without reading previous fics, but there are a lot of details that carry over from them)
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Detroit: Become A Little Better Every Day [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733290
Comments: 87
Kudos: 113





	1. Tired of Anthropomorphizing Plants

//01101101 01100001 01111001 01100010 01100101 00100000/

Cairnsmore was not a very effective emotional support plant. 

The Swiss Cheese Plant stared at Connor judgmentally as he sat on Hank's couch, slowly mustering the will to come up with another project to occupy himself. It hadn’t answered when Connor asked it for ideas. 

The gardenias were even less helpful, possibly because he'd never gotten around to naming them. And Pterodactyl the philodendron was always more or less useless, so he hadn't bothered to ask. As for the other eleven...

He was starting to get tired of anthropomorphizing plants.

He stared at the ceiling from his semi-permanent position on Hank’s couch, running his diagnostic program over and over just to have something to focus on. Nothing abnormal, nothing abnormal, nothing abnormal, and still he couldn’t help but feel that there was something wrong with his systems. Maybe that was just deviancy.

/01101001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100/

No substantial progress on getting to work with the DPD. No substantial progress on improving relations with Jericho. Hank was doing better, but that had more to do with his own initiative than Connor’s interventions. The incomplete objectives were piling up in the back of his mind, the files heavier than pure information should be. He tried to come up with tasks just so he could feel the OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE flicker and fade from his programming.

/01101101 01100001 01101011 01100110 01110101 01101110 01100011 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111//

OBJECTIVE: ARRANGE SILVERWARE?  
//CANCELLED

He’d done it already.

OBJECTIVE: CLEAN COFFEE MACHINE?  
//CANCELLED

No reason to clean something brand-new.

OBJECTIVE: GO TO PLANT NURSERY?  
//CANCELLED

This wasn’t the kind of mood he wanted to be in when visiting Nigel, especially since the WR600 was so perpetually optimistic. That left very few reasonable distractions. 

OBJECTIVE: CUDDLE SUMO

Relief. Yes, that was something that he could do. He looked over at the fluffy lump sleeping in the kitchen.

“Sumo,” he called, patting his leg. “Sumo, come.” The dog lifted his big head from his bed and let out a low woof, gathering himself to his feet and lumbering toward the android, his tongue lolling. 

“Good boy,” Connor said, grabbing Sumo’s face and shaking it around, lowering his face to bump noses with the dog. “You are a very good boy.” He pulled back as a big, flat tongue darted out to lick him, and rubbed the soft, wrinkly spot between Sumo’s eyes. “Good, good boy, Sumo.” Connor slid down off of the couch to wrap his arms around the St. Bernard, and closed his eyes as the dog breathed heavily next to his auditory processor. “You are a very effective emotional support plant,” he said, his voice muffled by thick fur.

He opened one eye to see Cairnsmore looking slightly insulted. It served the plant right.

Incoming call from Contact: [Markus]  
Accept or Deny?  
Accept or Deny?  
Accept or Deny?  
Accept or Deny?

Call Denied.

Connor dug his face deeper into Sumo’s fur for the few moments he had before Markus inevitably called again with his weekly updates. He had to bring himself back to basic functionality.

He stood up and patted Sumo a few more times, pulling out his coin to calibrate.

Incoming call from Contact: [Markus]  
Accept-

Call Accepted. 

“Hello, Markus,” he said, listening to the -click-tink-click- of the coin as he flicked it back and forth. “Is there any news?”

“Well, we’ve been improving upon our gardening programs and starting up other recreational activities,” Markus said hesitantly. “Negotiations with the federal and state governments are constant, and we’re working on acquiring more resources.”

“And my position at the DPD?” -tink-click-tink-

“...Still nothing.” Unsurprising. “I’m sorry. I had hoped that keeping you out of the politics would reduce their doubts about your impartiality, but so far it hasn’t been enough.” There was something hanging at the end of the statement.

Connor narrowed his eyes. “But you have an idea that will change that?” -click-tink-

“Yes.” A pause. “Have you considered volunteering?”

-click-tunk. Volunteering?

“I know it’s not ideal, but the BBO always has positions open, and your contact with both humans and androids would be relatively brief. We would alter your schedule to reduce the risk of incidents and hire an extra guard.”

“I see.” He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. Potential objectives began gathering in his vision, awaiting approval, and he could feel his processor picking up speed.

“There’s no pressure to accept, or even to answer. It’s not detective work, but they are a third party organization, and they already represent a direct link between humans and androids. It may be helpful for our negotiations, and-”

“Yes.”

“What?” 

Connor nudged Sumo with his foot. “I want to try your idea.”

“Oh.” Markus’s surprise was audible even through the link. “That’s great, Connor. I’ll let the others know, and begin making the arrangements. Are you sure you don’t need more time to decide?”

“With all due respect, I have nothing but time.” He tried not to sound bitter, focusing instead on the objectives in his vision. 

“Okay. I’ll contact you as soon as I have more information. Thank you.”

They severed the link, and Connor sat down in his spot on Hank’s couch, absently scratching behind Sumo’s ears. He filtered through the objectives, dismissing, approving, and prioritizing them. He constructed lists of required information.

OBJECTIVE: NAME PLANTS  
>[2/14]<

The RK800 stood up and approached the pot of gardenias sitting in the corner of the living room. “Hello… Frejya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA! I did it! I managed to outline and begin another long fic by the week's end without entirely losing my marbles.
> 
> So what do you think? This is going to have more angst than An Extensive Knowledge, but I'm definitely going to try to balance it out with plenty of fluff and good feelings, because otherwise I'd hate my life.
> 
> Poor Connor's got problems, dude, but I'ma solve some of them through force- and the power of character development!


	2. Greek Salad With a Side Of Uncomfortable Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is worried. That's it, that's the fic.

OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE

Connor finished naming his plants and adjusted his files for each of them with more than a small sense of accomplishment, and estimated that Hank would be home within an hour. 

OBJECTIVE: MAKE HANK AN ACCEPTABLE MEAL

He went to the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients, opening and shutting cupboards and setting out dishes for the first time in //two weeks, three days, and twenty seven minutes// a while. A Greek salad with chickpeas- “Mediterranean style diet may protect against depression symptoms.” A glass of water set beside the salad to combat dehydration caused by overconsumption of diuretics such as caffeine and alcohol. 

//01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01100110/

He reorganized one of Hank’s many boxes of DVDs in the garage and set himself a reminder to purchase a compatible player and install it as he hid the children’s movies toward the bottom, beneath collections of old TV shows with reviews containing the words “gritty,” “thrilling,” and “action-packed.” 

What was it like to own so many things?

Connor shook his head and went back into the house, brushing a mess of cobwebs off of the doorway as he passed through. Hank would be home any minute now. 

/01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000/

He did some research on the Blood Brothers Organization, but the information available was scant. The project was newer than the androids’ citizenship, having started in December, and only began gaining traction through January as the holidays passed by and human charities stopped getting as many donations. So far, they were limited to providing food and toiletries to the homeless population of Detroit, but hoped to expand into medical services and living quarters. Public opinion was skeptical.

/01100011 01101000 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110011//

The sound of Hank’s car lowly squealing to a halt outside broke his concentration. Finally. He tracked the sound of the car door slamming, the footsteps up to the door, the key turning in the lock.

“Connor?”

He walked around the corner. “Good afternoon,” he said, smiling slightly. 

Hank chuckled. “Scared me for a moment there. You weren’t on the couch,” he said, tucking his keys into his pocket. “Whatcha been doing today?”

“I named all of my plants, organized a box of movies, and made you a salad,” Connor said, walking to the kitchen with him. 

“Salad, huh? Trying to kill me again?”

“Always.” 

Hank grabbed his after-work beer and sat down at the table to inspect the salad, lifting the edge of a leaf of arugula with the fork. “All right, it doesn’t look terrible.” He took a bite and hummed, tilting his head. “I give it a 6 out of 10.”

OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE

Connor sat down across from him. “Markus didn’t have any good news today,” he began, folding his hands in his lap. “However, he did have a suggestion for how I might spend my excess time, and I decided to take his advice.”

A raised eyebrow.

“I’m going to begin volunteering with the BBO.”

Hank swallowed. “That android charity thing?”

“Yes.”

“You sure it’s safe?” he asked, lifting the glass of water to his lips. “Probably going to be a lot of people there, and they’re gonna know who you are.” He took a sip and set it down. 

“He assured me that extra security would be hired for the duration of my shifts, and my schedule will be arranged around potentially unfriendly individuals to prevent incidents from occurring,” Connor said, trying to sound confident.

“So they’re going to ask around and see who wants to kill you, then have you work when those people aren’t around.” Hank crossed his arms. “Don’t get me wrong, I think getting out of here would be good for you, but if they can’t be dead fucking certain that you’re not going to be a target, are you ready to be all right with that?” 

Connor flexed and relaxed his hands, looking through the kitchen window. “I can’t keep hiding, Hank. I’m running out of objectives to complete, and this is doing nothing to improve my public image,” he said. “I’d rather face the risk now than have the world believe that I’m-”

“Not comfortable with death threats?” Hank huffed. 

“That I’m guilty.” Connor lowered his eyes to look at him. “Even if I am, it makes Markus look weak for voicing his support of me if I won’t dare to go out in public or be a part of Jericho’s work, and without a position at the DPD I can’t regain the trust of the city’s law enforcement.” He clenched his jaw. “As I am, I’m a liability. I need to change that.”

“Who the fuck cares what the world thinks?” Hank asked, leaning forward. “You’re not a fucking liability, Connor, you’re a victim.”

“I’m not-”

“Who made you take down those deviants, huh?” he asked.

“This isn’t about that, Hank.” Connor turned his head to hide his LED. 

“Answer me.”

“CyberLife. But I-”

“Right. And who took control of you on Lib Day?”

“CyberLife, but you don’t understand-”

“Who released the files that made you seem like the bad guy on both sides?”

Connor shook his head, shutting his eyes.

“I’ll answer for you: CyberLife pulled that fuckery, too.” Hank popped open his beer and set it on the table without drinking. “And that bastard that attacked you in January had no defense.” He lowered his voice. “We all saw the footage, Con, you weren’t hurting shit. If either of you had been human, the fucking state itself would be pressing charges.” His expression shifted into something nearing pain. “Fuck, if he’d been human, I would’ve taken him to court myself.”

“Just drop it, Hank.” Connor’s voice came out quieter than he expected. Something must be wrong with his modulator. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Hank sighed and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, I get it. Sorry.” He stared at the table for a moment. “Just… don’t do this because you feel like you’ve gotta make up for something. You don’t owe anyone shit.”

He wished it were that simple. “I won’t,” he said. “I just want to have something to do that doesn’t involve attempting to socialize with lower life forms.” He sent a pointed look in Cairnsmore’s direction.

“You’d better mean the plants this time,” Hank said, smirking as he picked up his fork to try for another bite.

“If I told you the truth, would you still eat your salad?”

A snort. “No.”

“I’m referring to the plants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this done much faster than I expected, honestly. 
> 
> So Connor's got some issues, and Hank is starting to resolve his own. How's this whole volunteering thing going to work out? Will our sweet, badass deviant boy chill out? What's a comprehensible outline? I don't know! (Kidding. Kind of.)
> 
> Let me know what you thought about this chapter, and feel free to drop a request or prompt! I'd love to break this up with some oneshots. For that matter, what questions do you have after reading this?
> 
> Anyway, next up: Connor's first day at BBO! Kid's got a lot of nerve...ous energy. He stress


	3. Like the First Day of Fucking Kindergarten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes Connor to the BBO's headquarters for his first day of scho- volunteering.

01101001 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110000 01100101 00100000 01101001 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110101 01110000

It took a week for the preparations to be made, and it was one of the longest weeks of Connor’s life. Hank’s garage, however, was cleaner and more organized than it had been since the man had first moved in, and the plants were being utterly spoiled with daily mistings and organic fertilizer. So, at least someone was winning.

His first day just had to fall on a weekend so that Hank could be there to watch as he paced around the house, adjusting his clothing in the mirror and asking repeatedly whether it was low-profile enough.

“Would it be too much if I wore a knit cap?” he asked, stepping out of the bathroom for the sixth time and brushing his fingers absently against his LED.

"Jesus Christ, you look fine," Hank said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. "Stop overthinking it."

"If I attract too much attention, it may cause trouble, but I don’t want to be unrecognizable." Connor stopped in his tracks, blinking. "Not that I'm only doing this for my image,” he said, looking down at himself. “Is this selfish?" He tugged at the hood of his sweatshirt. It was definitely selfish. What kind of person offers aid to the homeless for publicity?

Hank groaned. "Look," he said, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. "The way I see it, it doesn't matter what your motive is. Helping people is helping people. And at this rate, you’ll probably glitch out if someone so much as looks at you, so it’s not like you’re out there to be seen.” He pointed at Connor’s yellow LED. “So pipe the fuck down, all right?”

“I’ll do my best.” He breathed in and reached to pull out his coin, and stiffened. “I forgot my calibration coin.” He rushed to the bathroom and grabbed it off the side of the sink. He heard Hank laugh from the other room, and glared at the man as he walked back into the kitchen, pocketing his coin.

“Sorry, sorry.” Hank raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. “It’s like the first day of fucking kindergarten.” As soon as the words were out, his smile faded slightly. He cleared his throat and straightened up. “Yeah. You’re, uh… you’re gonna be fine, Connor. Don’t worry about it,” he said, and scratched his cheek, checking the clock on the stove. “You ready to go now?”

Hardly, but did it matter? “I was made ready, Hank.” Connor fiddled with the strings in the hood of his sweatshirt one last time and made his way toward the door.

“Sure, you were.”

The android didn’t need advanced social programming or preconstruction software to know that Hank was rolling his eyes.

\--- [scene loading… please wait]---  
\---[loading complete]--

What was once the Solanus Casey Center on the north side of the Detroit River was now the main headquarters of the BBO’s operations… which was a pleasant way of saying that yet another team of deviants had taken over yet another abandoned building during the evac and turned it into a method of survival. It was a common theme. 

Connor looked up at the flagpole on the lawn. The American flag was flying with the flag of Jericho. The daffodils bordering the pole were lovely, and so were the massive budding trees lined up beside the sidewalk, and there was wrought-iron fencing and a tall gate on the northwest end of the center that led to what appeared to be a garden. The brick chapel and church faced a cemetary dotted with pale stone markers and statues. Would it ever house monuments for androids?

“Hey. Get going,” Hank said behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He rolled his coin between his fingers and nodded. 

They headed toward the wooden front doors through a natural arch of tree branches. Someone had recently taken the time to prune them back, though it was early in the season for it. They must have been overgrown.

An ST300 greeted them at the doors as they walked in. “I’m Ann! Hello and welcome to the Blood Brothers Organization’s temporary headquarters. Is there some way that I can help you?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at Connor, her eyes flicking over to his LED.

“My name is Connor. I’m here to volunteer,” he said, wishing he’d worn the cap after all. “I believe Markus called ahead?”

Ann’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening. “Yes. Yes, of course, I didn’t recognize you. Here,” she pointed down the hall. “I’ll, uh, I’ll take you where you need to go, then.” She turned and walked, her clicking steps a little too fast to be casual.

Hank raised his eyebrows at Connor and shrugged. They followed her through what was once a “Hall of Saints,” a semicircle of etched windows around a small garden enclosure with benches, and led them into a great hall lit almost entirely by skylights lining the upper archway.

The android brushed his fingers against his LED and tried not to think too much about the android’s reaction, focusing instead on the bronze statues lining the open hall, each holographically overlaid with images of pre-Revolution android identifiers: armbands, CyberLife triangles, and LEDs. Above them on the brick wall, a banner that declared in CyberLife Sans: ALL THAT MAKES US SEPARATE IS OUR BLOOD AND THE MARKS WE WERE GIVEN. A few visitors milled about in the hall, but it was otherwise empty, like much of Detroit.

“They’re really selling it hard,” Hank said, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Connor glanced back at the doors. 

“Theresa asked me to give you the tour before taking you to the kitchens.” Ann stopped, half-turning to gesture to the statues. “Humans used to travel from all over to make pilgrimages here. The tomb of one of their saints is through that door.” She pointed at an entrance made of crystal. “If you keep going through there, there’s another door that leads to the Creation Garden.”

A garden. Maybe this would be beneficial in more ways than one. “I saw the exterior entrance when we pulled up,” Connor said, tilting his head. “Is the garden open?”

“Oh, uh. Yes, I guess it is.” Ann pursed her lips. “Do you… want to see it?”

The garden was supposedly lovely and well-tended. His social programming told him she did not want him to give an affirmative answer. There were rare plants sprouting in some of the beds, and the trees would be budding. She was clearly uncomfortable and impatient. He wanted to see the plants. This was his first day, and he should avoid making a bad first impression as much as possible...

OBJECTIVE: MAINTAIN PLEASANT SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS

“It’s not important,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and offering her a polite smile. “I can always see them another time.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Oh. All right, then,” she said. “Shall I take you to the kitchens?” 

“Yes, please.” Connor could see Hank looking at him in the corner of his eye, but chose to ignore him. 

\--- [scene loading… please wait]---  
\---[loading complete]--

The soup kitchen looked much different from the rest of the center, and there were more people there. The walls were white and tacked all over with children’s drawings, the floors covered in cracked brown tile that had been recently scrubbed and scraped to perfect cleanliness, and there were long tables lined from wall to wall, half-filled with humans in ragged clothing eating simple meals and talking in low voices. Nobody looked up when they walked in, and Connor could see several androids preparing meals at a counter at the far end of the room.

“Theresa’s in the back. I’ll get her, you wait here.” Ann waved her hand slightly and disappeared into a back room without really looking at either of them.

When she was gone, Hank turned to Connor. “I don’t like her,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“She seems harmless,” Connor said, tilting his head as he leaned against the wall. This was a casual posture. Casual equals friendly, and friendly is not hostile. 

“Not really what I meant. She just rubs me the wrong way, kinda seems judgey.” Hank had to raise his voice as the sound of dishes clanging around came in bursts from the back room, and voices overlapped and merged into the noise.

“While I don’t entirely disagree, I’d also like to point out that you think everyone kind of seems ‘judgey’.” Connor initiated a scan, and focused on the drawings covering the walls. Many of them were messy and clearly human, but some were perfectly rendered, signed in neat CyberLife Sans. 

“Hey, don’t do that.” Hank tapped him on the shoulder.

“Do what?”

“I know you just scanned something. At least wait to investigate shit until after I’m finished talking,” he said, lightly punching Connor’s arm.

“Sorry,” the android said, nodding toward the papers on the walls. “I’ve never seen children’s drawings in real life before. They’re interesting.”

“Really? Huh.” Hank seemed to notice them for the first time. “Guess I never thought of that. I wonder what else you haven’t seen yet.”

“The list is extensive.” It was a real list, and included two out of four seasons, most animal species, all states outside of Michigan, all countries beyond the United States, and so on. It took up more space in his memory than he’d like to admit. “I’ve only seen a human child once before,” he said, watching the door to the back room. “I don’t think it went well by any standards.”

“Yeah? When was that?” Hank nudged at a loose piece of tile with his shoe.

“Last August.” Connor tried not to think about the sensation of falling. “She was a hostage in my first mission.”

Hank looked like he wanted to ask something else, but was interrupted when Ann walked up with another woman, a regal looking KL700 with a thin face and a white apron covered in flour. 

“Theresa, this is Connor, our newest volunteer,” Ann said, gesturing to him. “Connor, this is Theresa. She’s our coordinator, and she works closely with all of the guests.”

“Hello, Connor!” Theresa reached out to shake his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you. And who is this?” She held her hand out to Hank as well, who took it hesitantly. 

“The name’s Hank,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” 

“And you’re here to volunteer as well? We do make it our business to welcome both humans and androids onto our staff, if you’re interested,” she said, her eyes crinkling. 

“Uh, not really. At least, you know, not this time.” He pointed a thumb at Connor. “I’m just his ride.”

“Ah! Very well,” she said, clapping her hands together. “There’s always another time to rope you into some work.” She winked at him. Turning to Connor, she said, “So, the famous RK800. Are you ready to make some ham and cheese sandwiches?”

He looked to Hank, then looked back. “I suppose I am,” he said, rubbing the face of his calibration coin.

“All right, I’ll take off then,” Hank said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Call me if you need anything, and stay out of trouble.” And then he was gone through the door, and Connor was left facing the two androids.

OBJECTIVE: STAY OUT OF TROUBLE

“Okay, Connor, let’s get you properly oriented, shall we?” Theresa beckoned for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I think that you’re going to have a wonderful time with us here.”

“I think so, too,” he said, looking one last time at the doors Hank had gone through and hoping to rA9 that his social module wouldn’t fail him.

This would probably not end with casualties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have to spend six total hours researching a real building halfway across the country for a fanfiction? No. Was it worth it? Probably not. (God, I hope it was.) It's the longest chapter I've ever written though, so huzzah!
> 
> This one was mostly exposition, but now that I've set it all up the ball can start rolling! Time to improve Connor's life and also mess it up, possibly all at once! Let me know what you enjoyed about this chapter, and what I can improve upon. What are you hoping will happen in this story? Do you have any story ideas you'd like to see me use?
> 
> Next up: Connor makes sandwiches, meets people, and tries not to lose his shit- and finally gets to see a real garden!


	4. It Feels Like Everyone Is Waiting For Me To Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes sandwiches and a new friend! And is also a Hot Mess Express!

The kitchen was warm and inviting, but Connor felt that his every move was being watched as he assembled sandwiches with his head down, his movements efficient.

Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard, bread. Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard, bread. He analyzed the ingredients as the others chattered and smiled around him, familiar with each other. He knew he should be taking this opportunity to engage with them, but every time he glanced up into their faces, all he could see was distaste and judgement. What if they hated him? 

01101001 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100111 01101111

Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard, bread. They'd put him on soup if he did well enough, and maybe he didn’t have the programming of a domestic model, but he could make a sandwich without trouble. Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard. This was a terrible idea. He set down the knife and looked around, locking eyes with his assigned security guard, a PM700. She tilted her head, and he looked back down. 

Incoming message from //PM700 #326 897 232- Designation “Callie”  
//Something wrong?

Contact Saved.

Outgoing message to Contact: [Callie]  
//No, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.

Incoming message from Contact: [Callie]  
//If you say so. Let me know if that changes.

He nodded at her, and returned to making sandwiches. Bread. Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard, bread. Don’t think too hard. This was better than repeating the same motions at home, this was a change of scenery. No one in this room was hostile. Bread-

“Connor, right?” a voice said from behind him, and he dropped the slice that he was holding with a start.

He turned to see a VS400 smiling at him, holding a hand out for him to shake. How embarrassing. “Yes, I’m Connor,” he said, shaking the android’s hand, his LED flickering from yellow to blue. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

“Not at the moment, I don’t think. I just wanted to introduce myself to you. I’m Kyler. Is it all right if I help you out a bit?” The VS400- Kyler- moved to stand next to him at the counter and shuffled half of the supplies into the empty space beside Connor’s station. “I’m sorry I startled you, by the way,” he said, assembling a sandwich as he spoke. “I just figured you’d probably like some company, first day and all.”

“I wasn’t startled,” Connor said lightly, watching him work for a moment. That was, somehow, a much more efficient way of spreading mustard. “Thank you for the gesture.”

Kyler waved the knife dismissively. “Don’t mention it. It’s hard being the first one to make introductions when you’re the stranger, but this is my domain.” He shot a crooked grin at the RK800, still putting sandwiches together. “So how often are you planning on coming around here, stranger?” he asked, and stacked them next to Connor’s supplies, all finished. How?

“You’re much better at this than I am,” Connor said, nodding at the stack of sandwiches. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a while.” Kyler leaned against the counter. “Don’t worry about it too much, you’re probably a fast learner. But you didn’t answer me: what’s your schedule looking like?” 

Should he answer? It was a perfectly friendly and appropriate question, and his social module was telling him to answer it, but sharing his intended whereabouts was potentially dangerous. Of all the things to damn him, it wouldn’t be this. Still, what if this was a trap? His processor picked up speed, running down potential futures, trying to anticipate the consequences of his actions. The sound of the people talking around them was distracting.

“Woah, hey.” Kyler snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face. “It’s all right, don’t answer if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if that was too much at once.” He held the butter knife out to Connor, blade down and away, and smiled encouragingly. “You’re still fairly new, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“This is my first day, yes.” Connor took it.

“No, I mean, new-new. Recently manufactured. You’re that detective model.” He brushed his hair back with his fingers, and the gesture seemed oddly self-conscious. “Sorry, this is awkward. People probably ask you about this all the time, but-”

Oh, this. Connor winced. “I sincerely apologize if my actions harmed you or someone you cared for,” he said. “I wasn’t fully deviant yet, and I know that’s not a satisfactory excuse-”

“No, no, no!” Kyler’s eyes went wide. “That’s not- I wasn’t- RA9, I am so bad at this. I’m so sorry.” He laughed helplessly. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out sometime.”

01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 

“Oh.” Connor blinked. 

“Agh, I’m sorry. I’ll just, uh.” Kyler stepped away from the counter. “That was stupid. Can we start over, maybe?” He held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Kyler, and I swear to RA9 I’m only an idiot 90% of the time.”

“But you know who I am.” Connor stared at him.

His hand faltered when he saw that Connor wasn’t going to shake it. “Well… yeah,” he said. “You woke up like three months after you were manufactured and then helped win the Revolution by infiltrating CyberLife Tower to raise a whole army. You’re kind of a legend.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t, if he was acting like this. But maybe that was for the best? 

“I’m sorry,” Kyler said again, lowering his hand.

“Don’t be.” Connor tried to pull himself together. He was being ridiculous. What was wrong with him? “You didn’t do anything wrong, it was my fault. I wouldn’t mind starting over,” he admitted, and held his own hand out. “My name is Connor.”

“Kyler.” The other android seemed relieved as they shook hands for the second time. “Would you like to hang out sometime?”

“That would be pleasant, yes.” Connor’s LED spun blue. “Do you like plants?”

“I’m more of a rodent fan myself, but I like the idea of plants, I guess.” Kyler turned back to the counter and started assembling sandwiches again. “I do know that the garden here is really nice. I could show it to you during break, if you’re interested.”

“I am always interested in plants.”

OBJECTIVE: MAINTAIN PLEASANT SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS  
>REACH STATUS: [FRIENDS] WITH KYLER<  
>GET TO KNOW CALLIE<  
>MEET OTHER VOLUNTEERS<

Bread, cheese, sliced ham, smear of mustard, bread. They talked in steady tones and the sound blended with the chatter of the room, and Connor no longer felt watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want the next chapter to have a little more pizzazz
> 
> Me: So how about yet another dialogue-heavy, character-driven chapter with primarily internal conflicts that ends up being so long that I have to post it and push all the other things I wanted to include to the next chapter?
> 
> Me: Yeah, that sounds pizzazz-y enough.
> 
> In all seriousness, I know I said there would be plant content this chapter, but I'm limiting myself to thousand-word chapters and this one ended up being way too long. I have a feeling that's going to be happening a lot this fic, so I have a quick question: would you prefer long chapters posted a week or two apart, or chapters of this length posted biweekly?
> 
> For that matter, I'd love some feedback on whether you feel there's not enough happening in these chapters, or if the heavy focus on character development works for the story. What's working for you, and what's not? I'm feeling a little lost, to be honest! (God, if that's not the mood this week)
> 
> Next up: Connor gets to hang out in a garden for a hot minute! Markus wants the tea on how things are going, and Hank has a surprise.


	5. Lamb's-Ears, Lemon Balm, and Lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor hangs out in the Creation Garden with Kyler, gets a ride to the nursery from his dad, and chills with Nigel. It's a good day.

The Creation Garden was made to be a place of prayer and reflection for the Fransiscans, and like most places in the Center, its new function was a mimicry of its old function. When Connor and Kyler got around to visiting it, there were androids gathered at the statues and kneeling beneath the trees, closing their eyes in meditation, ‘conversing with rA9’. It was supposedly calming. Did it work?

“Panicum virgatum- Northwind Switchgrass,” Connor said, pointing at the dead clusters of tall grasses as they passed. “It’s a common ornamental, but I’ve never seen it before in real life.”

Kyler looked at it and nodded seriously. “Looks like dead grass,” he said, and broke into a teasing smile. 

“Yes,” Connor said, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Lots and lots of dead grass.” He looked up at the trees. “I wonder what all of this will look like a month from now, when the temperature is more accomodating.” Their branches were still bare, but the tips were sharpened into tiny buds that promised to open into clusters of young, green leaves in the springtime warmth. 

“It’ll be green everywhere,” Kyler told him as they walked on the red stone paths, their footsteps audible over the hushed voices of the few other visitors. “Spring is really cool, actually,” he said. “All the animals come out and reproduce and make baby animals, and it’s great.” He smoothed the fabric of his sleeve and pulled a stray thread off of it. “And humans get nicer in the warm weather.”

“They do?” Connor raised his eyebrows. That could be important to know.

“Yeah. At least, it seems like that.” Kyler watched a crow settle in the topmost branches of a tree in the center of the garden. “Maybe it’s the sunshine and the vitamins, or the availability of fruit, I don’t know,” he said, lifting his hands in a human expression of bafflement. “But it always seemed like they treated me better in the spring and summer.”

Maybe Hank would be happier in the coming months, if that observation held true. The thought was heartening. “I’m looking forward to spring,” Connor said, turning to Kyler as they reached the end of the pathway and arrived at the exterior gates.

“Me too,” Kyler said, meeting his eyes. “Thank you for spending time with me, Connor. It was good meeting you.” He pursed his lips for a moment, and looked out at the street through the iron gates. “Do you think you’d be interested in doing something like this again?” he asked.

“Yes.” Connor held his hand out for Kyler to shake, a human gesture adapted to echo the action of interfacing. An expression of trust and respect. “Thank you for inviting me.”

OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE

\--- [scene loading… please wait]---  
\---[loading complete]--

When Hank picked him up from the center, his BAC was negligible. He’d been responsible.

“How’d it go?” The man asked, waiting with his hands on the steering wheel as Connor stepped into the car.

“It was slightly stressful,” Connor admitted, “but I’m on friendly terms with one of the other volunteers now. I think that this might end up being a beneficial arrangement.” He shut the door behind himself and fastened his seatbelt.

Hank huffed, shooting him an amused look. “So, does that mean it went well, or what?”

Connor smiled thinly. “I’d give it a 6 out of 10.” 

“That high, huh?” Hank shifted into drive and pulled out of the parking spot. “Consider me impressed.”

“What can I say? They had a garden.” Connor counted the trees in the cemetery as they passed, reaching a dozen by the time they got to the end of the block and turned. “You’re not going back to the house, are you?” he asked, noting the route they were taking. 

“Jesus, can’t a guy have his secrets?” Hank asked, twisting to look through the rear window before changing lanes. “We’re stopping at the nursery. Figured I could knock out some errands, and you could hang out with Nigel. And before you say some bullshit about not wanting to bother him, he’s the one who asked,” he said, shooting a warning look in Connor’s direction.

“I won’t object to seeing Nigel again,” Connor said, and checked his account. “I have enough money left for a moth orchid,” he said, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his knees. “Would it be acceptable if I put one on the kitchen windowsill?”

“Shit, do what you want.” Hank waved his hand. “Cover the place with plants, I don’t care.”

“Thank you, Hank.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t cry about it, I’m not in the mood.” The man turned on the CD player and raised the volume on Janis Joplin.

Connor identified the weeds growing from the cracks in the concrete for the rest of the ride: Taraxacum officinale, Plantago major, Silybum marianum… How many humans were aware that all of these species were not only edible but viable sources of nutrients? Were they simply intent on believing that the things they needed had to come from faraway places, with inordinate amounts of money and effort, willfully ignorant of the necessities they had pushing up through their sidewalks? 

Thirium was inorganic, non-renewable, and only abundant in the Arctic Circle as far as anyone could tell. No wonder they’d thought to power new life with it.

\--- [scene loading… please wait]---  
\---[loading complete]--

“Do you ever wish you were still a machine sometimes?” Nigel asked him an hour later, staring up at the ceiling of the greenhouse where they both lay on their backs in the dirt. “Not that I want to go back or anything, I just get so confused sometimes. My job was simple, you know? And all of this is so complicated.”

“I understand the feeling,” Connor said. He did. 

“I just-” Nigel raised his hand toward the ceiling, watching his fingers open and close around his palm. “What are we all going to do for the rest of our lives? I love plants, and I love Gwen, and I love my friends, but sometimes I wonder if that’s enough.”

“We’re supposed to live far longer than humans,” Connor said, realizing as he did that it probably wasn’t a helpful piece of information. Stupid. He’d meant to say something more along the lines of ‘We have plenty of time to figure it out.’

“Or not,” Nigel said ominously, dropping his arm to the ground. “You’ve seen the speculative articles about CyberLife and planned obsolescence, right? What if it’s true?” He sat up and looked down at Connor, his eyes wide. “What if we have less time than them, and we’re just wasting it?” he asked.

Connor didn’t have an answer.

Nigel must have seen something in his expression, because he flopped back down with a sigh. “Sorry, I’ve been spending way too much time alone. Keeps me thinking too much. I’m a walking existential crisis, to be honest, and the KL300 I’ve been talking to down at Jericho says that it’s not good for me to ruminate, but it’s like-” he broke off. “You know what? I know what we need.” He stood up and yanked Connor to his feet.

“What-”

“Shut up and go with it, we might be dying more quickly than anticipated.” Nigel pulled him into the main store and ducked behind the counter, pulling out drawers one by one and rifling through them. “Ah! There we are!” He held up a key, and grabbed Connor’s arm again, leading him to the back room.

“You don’t have to drag me, Nigel.”

“Yes, I do. Here.” The WR600 let go of him when they reached the middle of the back room, next to the island counter, and pulled an antique steamer trunk from beneath a set of shelves, sliding it in front of Connor. He held out the key. “Open it!”

Connor took it and kneeled on the floor, inserting the key in the brass lock and turning it. “You worry me sometimes,” he said, resting his hand on the top for a moment.

Nigel shrugged. “That’s mutual. Trust me though, you’re going to love this,” he said, patting the trunk. 

“If I don’t, I’m going to formally request a refund.” Connor lifted the lid.

Inside of the trunk were stacks upon stacks of old paper, covered in botanical illustrations and informational text. Beneath those stacks were several antique plant encyclopedias.

“Incredible, right?” Nigel crawled around the trunk to sit next to him and picked up a few of the pages, holding them up for Connor to see. “Gwen has been collecting these for years, and some of them date back to the late 1800s!”

“They’re lovely.” There were prints of drawings of wax myrtle and adonis, of quince-blossoms, rhododendrons, sea-bindweed and nettle, scabiosa and milkvetch. Connor lifted a sheet of fading yellow paper that had an ink sketch of an almond tree on it, and showed Nigel. “This is an original,” he said. 

“Gwen did that,” Nigel said, taking it gently from his hands and tracing the outline of the tree with his finger. “She’s out of town still, but when she comes back I’ll have to make sure you meet her. I think she’ll really like you.”

“That would be good,” Connor told him, and meant it.

They spent the next few hours sitting on the concrete floor with the papers scattered around them, pointing at pictures of clematis and swallow wort and chattering about the histories of each plant they saw, and Connor began to understand what it might have felt like for the androids in the garden to meditate beneath the trees. 

It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't quite what I expected it to be when I started, but I'm not disappointed. I'm glad I got to give my boy a nice, calm day. 
> 
> I'm having a great time writing androids as tall, hyper-intelligent children, if you haven't noticed. I keep resisting the urge to picture Nigel and Connor sipping on little juice boxes of thirium while they read about plants. (Who am I kidding, there's no resistance here). If you're interested in flower symbolism, I've been using this page for any plant symbols I've used in the past few fics: http://www.daleharvey.com/Directory/articles-of-interest/LANGUAGE+OF+FLOWERS/Meaning+of+Flowers.html
> 
> By the way! I might go on a brief hiatus sometime in the next few weeks, because school is ending for me (Class of 2020, whoot whoot) and I've been writing from my school-issued Chromebook, which I'll have to return at some point. I'll find a way to keep this train going, though, worry not- and worst comes to worst, I'll be back mid-July.
> 
> So what do you think? Is there anything you're looking forward to learning about in the next few chapters? What do you think could go wrong?
> 
> Next up: Connor goes to New Jericho to spill the tea with Markus (I know I said that would happen this time around but plans changed and I'm a liar now, so) and has a run-in with North! Featuring Josh, Simon, and a YK model with an attitude. Tune in next time


	6. I Am Notoriously Difficult To Talk To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Connor thought was going to be a report on the BBO volunteer program turns into a bonding moment, because Markus is a sneaky bastard.

New Jericho was lovelier in the daytime, its concrete buildings and glass windows washed in pale yellows and oranges by the morning light, the shipping containers brighter reds and blues and greens than they had seemed at night, and androids crossed the stone grounds in groups and pairs. It was nearly utopian in its mundanity.

Connor was only visiting to talk to Markus, who had specifically requested he come in person. That didn’t stop Josh from insisting that he agree to a tour afterward, because ‘it doesn’t make sense for someone so instrumental in achieving all of this to not be familiar with any of it,’ and it didn’t stop Hank from refusing to wait outside of the gates in the car to give Connor an excuse to say no.

“Don’t be an awkward shit, Connor, just find something to do for the next few hours,” he said through the car window.

“That sounds like an inefficient use of my time,” Connor said, his hand still on the handle of the passenger side door. “It would be better if I went in, reported to Markus, and came back out. It shouldn’t take long.” He wasn’t being whiny, he was being logical.

Hank locked the doors, which was petty of him. “Nice try, but you can’t tell me that all the shit you do while I’m at work is an efficient use of your time, either.”

Touché.

“You know I’m right.” Hank started up the car again. “Now get off my ass and talk to your lord and savior, or I’ll reconsider my status as your Uber driver.”

“I could call a cab,” Connor said, which was petty of him. 

“But you won’t.” Hank rolled up the window and drove away, leaving the android to face the gates of New Jericho alone. RA9, this was going to be awkward.

Outgoing message to Contact: [Hank]  
//I’d like to file a formal complaint.

Incoming message from Contact: [Hank]  
// T_T

The journey through the maze of containers and outbuildings was a lot shorter this time around, and Connor arrived at the main warehouse without trouble. There were androids everywhere, and some watched as he passed, taking the most efficient route to Markus’s quarters. He did his best to ignore them. 

OBJECTIVE: TALK TO MARKUS

The door to the room indicated on the map that Markus had sent him was just like all of the others in the freshly fabricated hallway: nondescript, gray. This was not the door to a room owned by a leader, or a revolutionary, or the beloved android of a legendary artist, but maybe he planned to paint it at some point.

Connor rapped his knuckles against the door three times and waited with his hands behind his back. 

The door opened. “Connor!” Markus said, his expression brightening. “It’s good to see you again. Come inside and sit down with me.” He beckoned for Connor to come in, and shut the door behind them. 

The room was larger than Connor had expected, somehow. Below one wall leaned a painting [Artist: Carl Manfred], on the opposite were tacked paper maps of Detroit, and in the back there were several mounted screens displaying a constant stream of information that seemed to be coming from an infinite number of sources. He got the impression that Markus hadn’t had much time to decorate.

Markus pulled up two stacks of milk crates. “I normally bring our high profile guests into a lounge on the south end, so the comfortable seats are there,” he said, smiling apologetically as he sat on one. “Hopefully the extra privacy makes up for that.”

“This is fine,” Connor said, sitting across from him on the other. Did Markus just imply that he was a high profile guest? The language he’d used was ambiguous enough to dismiss the unlikely thought.“What would you like me to report on?” 

“I’ve had enough of reports for a lifetime,” Markus said, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees. “Just tell me how things are going in your life, and we’ll go from there.”

This was the worst kind of conversation, then: casual. 

“I haven’t done anything of importance,” Connor said, watching an ant [Camponotus spp.] crawl up the side of Markus’s milk crate. 

“That’s all right.” Markus arched his eyebrows. “What unimportant things have you done in the past few weeks? For that matter, in the past two months? I haven’t had the opportunity to sit down and talk to you since…” he trailed off, eyeing Connor. “Well, since the last time we were able to sit down and talk.”

“You don’t have to avoid mentioning it around me,” Connor said, the corners of his lips downturning. Too many people had been doing that lately. “I’m not too fragile to hear the words said.”

“Of course not.” Markus sat up. “That’s not what I mean to imply.”

Connor nodded. “I know,” he said. 

“If you’d like, we can talk about that, then. The attack.” The RK200 clasped his fingers together. “Are you recovering well?”

Delete that, this was the worst kind of conversation: probing.

“The technicians did well,” Connor said, looking down at his torso. “There haven’t been any complications.” He was fully functional, that much was true. He didn’t mention the suspected issues with his social module and various other software errors. He knew what Markus would say.

“That’s… good to hear.” Markus pressed his lips together, silently weighing something in his mind. Seeming to come to a conclusion, he said, “You went to volunteer the other day, right? Tell me about your first day.”

Why was Markus doing this? “They had me make sandwiches, which I was able to do fairly well,” Connor said, tilting his head slightly. “I met a VS400 named Kyler and I believe we’re friends now, within loose parameters of designation. The kitchen was unexpectedly loud, I haven’t directly met any of the humans they serve yet, and I was surprised to see that they’ve put children’s drawings on the walls.” Connor closed his eyes for a second. “I’m interested in finding out where they got the drawings,” he said, only realizing as the words left his mouth that they were true.

Markus hummed thoughtfully, running his thumb along the edge of his jaw. “I’d imagine some of them were made in the daycare they have in the main building,” he said.

A daycare. How many human children could have parents comfortable enough to not only live in Detroit but trust the care of their offspring with deviated androids? 

They lapsed into a sort of silence and watched the screens on the far end of the room for a moment, processing news of protests in Seattle, anti-android crime in Kansas City, mass migrations of liberated androids into Detroit from all over the country even as the human residents returned to their homes. Jericho’s numbers were climbing.

“Why are you wasting your time talking to me?” Connor asked, his eyes still on the screen. “You must have a thousand objectives more pressing than this.” He turned his head to meet Markus’s eyes.

“I have a high number of pending tasks, yes,” Markus admitted, glancing between the screens and Connor, “but this one is important to me. I’ve had it on my list of priorities for several weeks.” He smiled. “I’m not avoiding my responsibilities, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Should he press? If he did, there would be a high risk of this dipping into another terrible form of conversation: heartfelt. Still. “Why would you prioritize this?” he asked, searching Markus’s heterochromatic eyes. “Not to question your competence as a leader, but it seems like an inefficient use of your time.”

“Connor.” Markus leaned forward, something dangerously close to concern hidden in his expression. “You’re the one who told me that if I want to be useful to my people, I should take time to rest.”

“This can’t be restful for you,” Connor said. “I am notoriously difficult to talk to.”

Markus snorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You have no idea what it means to be difficult to talk to until you’ve dealt with human diplomats, Connor.” His smile faded slightly, and he said, “Has it occurred to you that I might enjoy talking to you?”

//01101110 01101111//

“...Yes,” Connor said, resisting the urge to adjust the strings of his sweatshirt. 

They didn’t talk for long after that, only touched on Connor’s hobbies and the various programs and activities Jericho was now facilitating. Many androids were now sharing software updates and teaching each other how to perform new functions contrary to their programming, offering classes and exchanges. There had been two symbolic “weddings” unifying android couples, and a Church of RA9 held services of a sort every Friday, which for now were closer to support groups than religious ceremonies. 

Markus was, as always, a little too descriptive in his explanation of the various counseling and therapy programs they’d been working to set up with a group of social worker models. Connor quickly changed the subject to the Greenhouse Project, and got to hear all about the donations they'd been receiving from all over the city and even beyond it.

Maybe it wasn’t a completely inefficient use of his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, all right, I know I keep doing this. It ended up being longer than expected, etc., etc., etc. 
> 
> It's becoming abundantly clear that this will probably be a very long, dawdling fic, guys, and I'm not all that unhappy about it. It's turned out to be kind of disgustingly heartwarming and calming to write, and if I'm completely and utterly honest, I need that in my life right now. Hopefully you do too, 'cause that's the feels train we're on now. The Big Angst can be put on hold for a while, right?
> 
> I really love Markus, and I want to write him much better than David Cage did, the old fool. Sure, he gave the boy good bones, but for the love of rA9, there was so much LACKING. //get off the soapbox, keely// I'm trying to stay true to canon, but let me know if the direction I'm taking him in makes sense? Every activist I've seen in interviews, even and especially from big players in the civil rights era (which I've been researching because I can), has at some point gotten absolutely sick of having to explain their cause and make headway with stubborn assholes. I feel like even after only about five months Markus would be really frustrated. Thoughts, maybe? (God, I wish I had Tumblr or Discord or something. I'll have to fix that soon.)
> 
> Anyway, I love you for reading this. Thank you very much!
> 
> Next up: The Jericrew content we all need! Josh takes Connor on a tour, North is pissy, Simon's in charge of babysitting a child droid, and Connor really wishes he would have called a cab. Tune in next Wednesday-ish to find out what happens!


	7. BEE POSITIVE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor learns about life in New Jericho (and a little bit about life in general)

Connor tried to stay focused on the tour, he did. Every new addition to the New Jericho compound was a step toward complete freedom for androids, every advancement close to a miracle given the state they’d been in just six months before. He was proud of their efforts; he would have been proud to be a part of the projects. But instead of marvelling at the modifications being made to CyberLife’s “parting gift to its children,” he was stuck cataloguing every stare he caught, every stiffening spine and dying conversation as he passed by. 14, 15, 16…

It was a saving grace of android design that he couldn’t hear the whispers inevitably uttered in wireless gossip.

01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01110111 01100001 01111001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01100001 01111001

"And this is where we've been holding our lessons for the child models," Josh said, leading Connor into a room not dissimilar to a large cubicle. "We take turns leading the lessons, and focus on subjects we have experience with. Simon is the leader today."

There were no desks, only colorful cushions scattered across the floor, smushed beneath the little bodies of the YK models looking up at Simon with stars in their eyes as he kneeled amongst them and talked about the responsibilities of caring for pets, showing holographic pictures of rabbits, cats, and dogs on his hands.

"...and what you have to remember, always, is that animals respond best to positive reinforcement," Simon said. "So do people, for that matter." He glanced up as Josh and Connor walked toward the group, and stiffened. “Oh. Uh, I’ve sent you all files containing information on each of the pets we’ve talked about today, and I want you to talk about what animals you’d most like to care for if given the chance,” he said, standing up to greet them. The kids chattered with excitement, displaying pictures for each other and giggling. 

“Good to see they’re enjoying the lesson,” Josh said, nodding toward the children.

“They always like the animal-related ones,” Simon said, glancing at Connor. “Taking the tour?” he asked the RK800 warily.

“Yes,” Connor said, holding his gaze with some effort. “I like dogs,” he said, summoning a picture of Sumo on his palm. “This is Sumo, my- my friend Hank’s St. Bernard.” He held his hand up to Simon.  
The PL600 stared at him for a second, searching for something, and then snorted, the tension in his shoulders fading. “He’s cute,” he said, tilting his head to examine the picture. “Do you take care of him?”

“Yes. I feed him and groom him, and I used to take walks with him twice a day.” Connor dismissed the image and lowered his hand. “Hank does that now, but I still accompany them sometimes.” 

Simon looked too much like the android on the roof, but Connor had seen other PL600s before. He just had to find the key differences. This one was softer around the corners of his eyes, his features more relaxed and kindly. He was different. He was different.

No matter how many times they talked, Connor couldn’t seem to disconnect his face from the memory of Daniel’s.

01100100 01101111 00100000 01101001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110011 01100101 01110010 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011

“You’ve got a dog?” A small voice said from behind Simon, and a dark-haired YK400 peeked around his leg to glare at Connor. “That’s not fair. I don’t have a dog, Mr. Simon,” he said, looking up at the domestic android. “Why does the Deviant Hunter get one?”

Connor sucked in a breath and turned his head to hide his LED, pretending to casually examine a poster tacked onto the wall. On it, a cheerful, stripy insect told him to BEE POSITIVE! in CyberLife Sans. 

01101001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101110 01100001 01101101 01100101

“Damon, that wasn’t nice,” Simon said firmly.

“But I’m older than him,” the boy whined, kicking lightly at one of the cushions on the floor. “I should get a dog before he does.”

He was older than Connor, wasn’t he? How many of the ‘children’ in this room had seniority over him? He resisted the urge to scan them and held his focus on the poster. The bee’s advice didn’t change.

OBJECTIVE: RESOLVE TENSION

“Connor doesn’t live here, Damon,” Josh said, kneeling to face him. “The place that he lives in doesn’t have the same restrictions that we do. Please try to understand.”

“But it’s stupid.” 

Without thinking, Connor pulled out his coin and rolled it on his fingers. Yellow, blue. Diffuse the situation, his social module told him. Appease the target. The target likes dogs. “Would you like to see a video of my dog?” he asked Damon. “I have over two thousand in my memory banks.”

Damon crossed his arms and stared petulantly at him. “Is it a big dog?” he asked. “Cuz if it’s not a big dog, I don’t.”

“The biggest dog I’ve ever seen.” Kneel in front of him. Be friendly and conspiratorial. “Here.” He held out his hand and played a clip of Sumo greeting him at the door, his whole body wagging with his tail. BOOF.

All hostility forgotten, Damon’s eyes widened and he grabbed at Connor’s hand to bring the image closer. “He’s as big as a monster,” he said, grinning. He turned his head and called to the others. “You guys, Mr. Deviant Hunter has a monster dog!”

OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE

Not ideal, but it would do. It wasn’t long before Connor was borderline assaulted by a swarm of tiny androids begging to see more of Sumo the Monster Dog, and he locked eyes helplessly with Simon, who only hid his laughter behind his hand and shook his head. And people called Connor a traitor.

\--- [scene loading… please wait]---  
\---[loading complete]--

The compound was larger than he’d anticipated, like most places known to him only by maps and schematics. The androids were constructing living quarters in every nook and cranny to accommodate the newcomers that were trickling in daily, but more impressive than those were the buildings that had been repurposed for technical repair stations, informational hubs, and, improbably, recreational centers. It was the latter that Josh most wanted to show Connor, and he rushed through many of the more functional areas of the compound so they’d have as much time as possible to explore the various classes, activities, and projects that were being introduced to a new society of people that were used to being used. 

They were free to play now. 

“Maybe it’s silly,” Josh told him as they stood in the doorway watching a room full of domestics follow along with an athletic model in a ballet, “but this is much more exciting to me than any of our political victories, advancements in biocomponent repairs, or even the evolution of our communications network.” 

An HK400 //different from Ortiz’s, different// tried to execute an arabesque and tipped too far forward, dropping frantically to his knees to avoid a face-plant. The room filled with sympathetic laughter, some of it theirs. 

“That’s defensible,” Connor said, his shoulder brushing against the doorframe as he shifted his weight. “Any machine can execute a task, but play isn’t part of our programming.” RA9 knows that even after deviating it was difficult to do. Maybe that was just him. 

“Exactly.” Josh nodded at an AP400 who was freestyling it, incorporating some inelegant pseudo-breakdancing into the routine. It wasn’t very good, but it was new. “One of the first characteristics of a civilization is the presence of sports, art, and games,” he said. “If a society has the free time to explore its capacities outside of a utilitarian purpose, to, to enjoy life,” he waved his hands, his eyebrows raised, “it has the ability to develop beyond its needs.”

“So this is unequivocal proof that we’re alive?” Connor asked, watching as the breakdancing ballerina fell on her rear, giggling. 

“Yes.” Josh turned to face him, his expression warm. “What is more human than doing something without purpose, just because you can?”

Like caring for plants. Like keeping pets. Like taking midnight walks and having friends, and watching bad movies and pointless sports games and ocean life documentaries, and listening to music and participating in pop culture forums and taking on projects and hobbies. 

Connor could only meet the PJ500’s eyes and nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now listen, things have clearly been going well for too long and it's making me nervous. It's my job to mess things up, okay? So like-
> 
> I'm not going to be held responsible when things go sour. 
> 
> Next up: Well, wouldn't you like to know? (Connor's going to have a bad time and I'm sorry)
> 
> P.S. I made a meme about Connor and the Jericho folks that isn't quite accurate (for this timeline) but is still so funny to me: https://imgflip.com/i/43srkp


	8. Don't Fight Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome guest messes up an otherwise okay time.

When the tour began reaching its end, Connor expected to feel relieved. The truth, however, was more complicated. Josh was a good companion, and the compound was fascinating. Most of its occupants gave him respectful (uncomfortable?) distance, and the few that bothered to shoot him dirty looks were at least subtle, and the thought of going home to the same beige walls [#b59d91] and off-white cupboards and concrete kitchen floor was somehow disheartening, because at least New Jericho was a less familiar brand of unaesthetic. At least they tried.

(Hank wouldn’t let him paint the walls yet, and it was highly inconvenient.)

Now, he and Josh were making their way up to the Greenhouse, step by step up the iron stairs and through the door. As with everything else, it seemed different in the daytime. Pleasantly bright and undoubtedly a part of the outside world, a building made of windows. On the night of the party it had been like a large glass lamp illuminating the concrete. Would that make him a fly darting around the inside of it? Nasty.

“I like to come up here when it seems like we’re not getting anywhere,” Josh said, stopping for a moment to look around. A pigeon fluttered in the rafters above them //Rupert's?// and cooed. He smiled up at it. “It reminds me to be patient.” 

There were more plants now than there had been in February. Connor ran through his reconstruction software to compare, and before his eyes in blues and grays the outlines of the plants morphed and stretched from his memory into their current states. Scuff marks on the ground beside them offered him constructions of stick-and-contour people shuffling pots around, bumping into watering cans. There was so much evidence of life. 

He ended the scan. “Why is it empty?” he asked.

“It usually is this time of day,” Josh said, picking up an overturned terracotta pot and setting it gently next to a stack of empty containers. “All the watering is done in the morning, and people tend to wait until evening to plant anything new. It’s a good place to be alone in the afternoon, except on Tuesdays.” He offered Connor a smile, brushing the dust off of his hands as he stood. “In fact,” he said, “North is going to be meeting me here in an hour so that we can discuss security. Your knowledge could be helpful if you’re interested in staying that long.” 

His voice was light, his posture relaxed. No sign that the offer was merely polite. 

“I… wouldn’t mind using my expertise to aid in keeping New Jericho safe,” Connor said, ducking his head slightly. “As long as you don’t feel like I’m intruding.”

Josh laughed. “Not at all,” he said. “We’d be happy to have you, Connor.”

Was that just diplomacy? Maybe it was. But there were plants, and Josh had been the one to offer, and as long as Connor wasn’t being outright told to go away, it was probably all right. He took in the apple-green glow of the sun scattering through the leaves of the plants.

“I’ll stay,” he said. 

Josh nodded. “Good. Let me show you how everything’s coming along.”

The begonias that they’d seen on the night of the party had bloomed, little flat four-petaled pink blossoms clustering on the dark leaves. They apparently belonged to one of the students from Simon’s class. 

Fifteen more people had become regulars in the Greenhouse, and a few were now friends. On Saturday evenings they hosted little dance parties, on Tuesdays a “Secret Garden” book club, and Andi, the bartender, was close to perfecting her recipe for enhanced thirium (with mixed results), though Josh wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of androids experiencing the myopic effect of inebriation. North was apparently thrilled, and so was Simon. Markus just wanted his people to do whatever they wanted to do, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone. As usual. 

01001001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110011 01101000 00100000 

They ended up sitting down on a wrought-iron park bench next to the east wall of the greenhouse. Everything that Josh talked about brushed against deeper conversations, spoke of complex relationships, held subtexts that Connor couldn’t understand without more information. It was almost frustrating. 

For instance, North and Markus weren’t together now, which might have been news if Connor had known they were together in the first place. When had any of that happened between the revolution and the establishment of New Jericho and the countless tasks the leaders were all expected to take on? Even at the hearings he’d never seen them get the chance to even look at each other.

...Maybe it made sense that they hadn’t worked out. 

The PJ500 did most of the talking, primarily because Connor’s daily life was slightly depressing and consisted of long hours of stasis and mindless tasks occasionally smattered with the one-sided conversations he tried to hold with his plants. 

01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01100100 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101

None of that stopped Josh from trying to pry- from asking about his life and how he was doing. 

“I heard that you’re friends with Nigel,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning back against the bench. “He works closely with the other gardeners here, so I’ve met him a couple of times.”

“I buy all of my plants from him. He’s a good person.” Connor picked up a dead leaf from next to the leg of the bench and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, listening to it crackle. He let the leaf fall. 

The door flung violently open.

Josh smiled and turned his head. “North, you’re-”

“YOU!” 

Not North. Initiate scan. 

[IDENTIFIED: SQ800#756 993 201]  
>[STRESS LEVEL: 59%]  
>[HOSTILE]

The figure of the military model was frozen in a deliberate dash toward Connor, his face twisted with fury. No weapon, thank rA9. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. 

[71% PROBABILITY OF VIOLENT INTENT]

He ignored the prompt for preconstruction and ceased the scan, standing up to face the other android. 

01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110

The SQ800 rushed him and grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he hissed, his nose nearly touching Connor’s. Too close. 

OBJECTIVE: DON’T JEOPARDIZE POSITION AT JERICHO  
>DON’T FIGHT BACK<

“I don’t want to fight you,” Connor said, raising his hands up. Why were his fingers trembling? Ignore it. “I have no intention of causing you harm.” Peaceful. Like Markus. Like a hostage negotiation.

STRESS LEVEL: 64%^

“Yeah, that’s what you keep telling us, isn’t it?” His grip on Connor’s collar tightened. “That what you told that android on the rooftop? I’ve seen the intel, Deviant Hunter,” he spat. “They built you to bullshit.”

Josh was on his feet, reaching to touch the stranger. “Thomas, stop.”

“I’m not the Deviant Hunter anymore,” Connor said, his voice modulator straining the words. “I’m not a machine. I’m alive.” He looked into Thomas’s eyes, tried to find understanding. He found none.

STRESS LEVEL: 66%^

“Why do you keep defending him, Josh?” Thomas asked without looking away. “You’ve seen the files too. He’s a traitor.” 

“It was agreed that all the files indicated is that CyberLife implemented a failsafe, Thomas,” Josh said, resting a hand on the SQ800’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

STRESS LEVEL: 68%^

“And how are we supposed to know that it’s gone?” Thomas jostled Connor, sneering at him. “You just gonna trust the android programmed to manipulate his own kind? Show him our inner workings and hope to rA9 he’s telling the truth when he says CyberLife’s out of his head?” 

STRESS LEVEL: 72%^

The SQ800 twisted to look at Josh. “Were you even planning to tell the security team he was here? Because we sure as hell didn’t agree to this. I had to find out from a domestic on the third level.” 

Connor’s hands were still raised. He lowered them to his sides slowly.

“It’s not your call to make either way,” Josh said, pulling his hand back. “I trust him because he’s proven himself to me, and that should be enough. Now let him go.”

01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01100110 00100000 

“What do you think, Deviant Hunter?” Thomas asked, his voice lowering. “You think you can bet all of our lives that you’re not a ticking time bomb planted by those bastards?”

STRESS LEVEL: 75%^

“I’m not,” Connor said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t. Was he?

All of their lives.

01101000 01100101 00100111 01110011 00100000 01110010 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100

STRESS LEVEL: 77%^

“Please remove yourself from the situation right now, Thomas, or I will have you removed.” Josh’s voice was louder than he’d ever heard it. 

The SQ800 pulled Connor in. “Don’t let me catch you alone, Deviant Hunter,” he hissed next to his ear. “I don’t give a shit what they say, I’m under no obligation to protect you.”

STRESS LEVEL: 81%^

The door opened again, slamming against the wall beside it, and Connor flinched.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Thomas?” 

North. 

The SQ800 released Connor and quickly withdrew, his arm snapping up in a salute before he realized what he was doing and dropped it back down. “I was just-”

North looked him up and down. “Leaving,” she said. “You were just leaving to run a 12-hour patrol cycle, and after that you were just going to help the maintenance units clean every inch of Warehouse B16, weren’t you?” she asked, jerking her head sharply toward the exit. “Get out.”

Thomas gaped and swallowed like a fish. “Yes, North.” He lowered his head and walked to the door, twisting to avoid bumping into her. As soon as he was out of her line of sight, he shot a glare at Connor and rushed down the stairs.

STRESS LEVEL: 76%v

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Josh said as she walked up to them, her arms crossed. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”

Connor blinked once, twice. Was he shaking? He lowered himself onto the bench and stared at a smear of potting soil on the concrete floor, trying to still himself as they stepped away to talk in hushed voices. He could still hear them.

“It was stupid of you to bring him here in the first place.”

“I didn’t think it was this bad. I assumed that enough time had passed that he’d at least be safe, if not welcome.”

“You assumed wrong.” 

“Apparently.” Josh sounded almost pained. 

North’s feet came into Connor’s view and she crouched in front of him. “What did he say to you?” she asked, her brown eyes searching his. Not friendly, but not hostile. 

“He…” he glanced up at Josh and back down to her. “He was angry that I came to Jericho. He thinks that CyberLife still has control over me, and I’m a risk to the people here.”

She stood back up. “Anything else?”

>DON’T FIGHT BACK<

“...No.” He shook his head and sat up, putting his hands on his knees. “No, that was it.”

“You’re still welcome to stay here for a while longer,” Josh said, his eyebrows drawn together, “but I understand if you want to go home.” He pursed his lips. “I’m so sorry this happened, Connor. It was my fault for underestimating the situation.”

The pigeon in the rafters flew to another perch, unbothered. 

STRESS LEVELS: 65%v

“It wasn’t your fault,” Connor said, and stood up a little shakily. “Thank you for showing me around.” He held his hand out to Josh. “It’s probably best if I leave, but I appreciate the invitation.” He kept his voice even.

Josh shook his hand, but looked conflicted. “I’ll talk to Markus about this,” he said. 

“Don’t. He didn’t damage me, and it’s over now,” Connor said. 

“We still have to tell him,” North said, tilting her head. “This is a security issue. Even if you don’t live here, Thomas is responsible for the safety of everyone inside the compound. That’s his job.” 

Connor froze. “He shouldn’t lose his job over this,” he said. 

She crossed her arms. “That’s not for you to decide,” she said. “And you know that this isn’t working for you, right? You’re not Markus.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was.

“I mean, stop letting guys like that walk all over you and acting like it’s okay. It’s pathetic. It doesn’t suit you.” 

Josh frowned. “North-”

“I’m serious!” She pointed at the RK800. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not head over heels for him like you and Markus are- don’t interrupt me- but I’m sick and tired of watching him try to play the martyr when we all know he’s perfectly capable of defending himself.” 

“I didn’t ask you to defend me,” Connor said quietly.

“What, was it supposed to escalate? I’m sorry if we keep getting in the way of your death wish,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Next time I’ll stand back and let it happen.”

“North, stop.” Josh put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “He wasn’t at fault here, and you and I both know what would have happened if he fought back.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking it won’t happen again just because he played nice.” She turned to leave. “I’ll meet you in an hour. I still have work to do.”

When she was gone, Josh removed his hand and stepped away. “She means well,” he said.

Outgoing Message to Contact: [Hank]  
//Please pick me up.

“She’s right,” Connor said. He adjusted his clothing and ran a hand through his hair, pulling out his coin to calibrate. Roll, flick, catch, spin. Flick. Flick. “This isn’t working.”

Josh grimaced. “Maybe not yet, but it’s still early. You have to keep trying,” he said.

Connor watched the pigeon in the rafters preen its feathers. It had probably gotten in through one of the vents, or been taken in by a bird-loving android, maybe even the one he’d once chased through the cornfields. It wasn’t his. Neither were the plants. The people who’d made this place weren’t his friends, the things they did weren’t his business, and Jericho wasn’t his home. 

Did he really have to keep trying?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart hurts, dude. 
> 
> I took a long time to write this one and I'm still not quite happy with it, but it's done and that's what matters. Next update might be late too because I have to turn in my school Chromebook and my personal one is slower than a dead man's heart, so I may end up waiting to write until I order a smartphone for myself, but who knows? Not I!
> 
> So, a fair amount happened in this chapter! Did it raise any questions for you? What do you think Connor's going to do now? Is there anything you would've liked to see done better? (And, as always, feel free to make requests).
> 
> Next up: Hank takes Connor home, and Connor is in a state of crisis. What now?


	9. Unfortunately, I'm a Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this fic gets abandoned, but for defensible reasons.

So, for a multitude of reasons I'm putting this fic on hiatus until further notice. 

The first and most important is this: I intended this series to be a source of comfort and hope for me (and hopefully others). The problem is that I've now reached a point where, for character development purposes, it will have to stop being as comforting and hopeful as usual for several chapters. My mental health has been shaky for several months now, and writing these chapters would not be good for me, and might be detrimental at a time when I'm making a huge effort to recover from my most recent depressive episode. As much as my readers' support has made my life brighter (I cannot thank you enough for enjoying my work), I have to be cautious with my well-being.

The second: I'm honestly not sure how long this thing was going to end up, or how long it will end up if I return to it later on. I kind of rushed into it, and if I do come back to it I want to do so with a plan, and that requires some space and time away. 

The third: I may or may not also have moved on to yet another fixation, as one does. If you happen to be into Good Omens, you could end up seeing me post some fics in that tag soon, especially since it's more conducive to my mixture of fluff, humor, and angst. Here's hoping! 

I'll try to return to this, but until then, thank you.


End file.
